At Second Glance
by Ephemerale
Summary: When Atton stumbles up the ramp to the Hawk wounded and gray faced, the Exile is confronted with several aspects of his character that make her re-think her assumption that he is little more than a scoundrel. Part 1 of the LSFXAtton Moments series.


"Atton!" the exile exclaimed, rushing forwards to catch him in her arms as he stumbled up the ramp to the _Hawk. _He was pale and shaking, too weak to push her away and refuse her offer of help. She could feel him sag against her, his cold, clammy head resting against her neck.

Bao-Dur and Mandalore had been supporting him until the exile had seen him, and had willingly transferred their burden into her arms. She glanced over the pair and realized that they were only slightly better off than Atton was. Bao-Dur was limping, his thigh bearing lightsaber burns, and Mandalore was cradling an arm against his side. From the angle he was holding it at, it appeared to be broken.

"Mical!" the exile shouted, and the medic came rushing towards her moments later. He glanced over the three men before his lips thinned, and he quickly took Bao-Dur's weight on his shoulder and gestured for Mandalore to follow him into the med-bay. He paused for a moment, looking between her and Atton in question and the exile managed a smile. "Take care of them, I've got him," she instructed her apprentice, who nodded and ushered the wounded into the ship.

"I'm fine," she heard Atton pant, feeling his lips move against her neck as he spoke.

"You are not fine," she grumbled in response, reaching out with the force to feel his injuries. There was a gash in his side, and she could sense that he had lost a great deal of blood. He also had several cracked and bruised ribs and a blaster burn on his shoulder. Allia swallowed hard and trampled down her concern so that she could focus on using the force to begin healing his wounds as they made their slow, ponderous way up the ramp.

In that moment, Atton weakly lurched away from her and retched on the gangplank. Allia's breath caught in her throat as she knelt beside him, running her hands through his sweaty hair as he vomited, stroking his back as he shuddered. When he was through, she helped him to his feet again and continued to half-drag him into the _Hawk._

"Don't want you t'see me like this, Ali," Atton slurred, and Allia rolled her eyes as she helped him through the common room and toward the medbay.

"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered in response, and her stomach clenched when she felt his head roll backwards slightly. "Hold on, Atton. We're almost there. As soon as we get you to Mical you can rest," she murmured, beginning to breathe heavily from exertion. Atton was a large man, and having to bear most of his weight was beginning to take its toll on her.

When they arrived at the medbay, Mandalore was in the process of muttering curses in Mando'a, his mother tongue, while Mical was setting his arm. Upon inquiring, Allia learned that Bao-Dur's leg had already been healed and he had been sent to the dormitories to rest. The sickening, crunching sound of bone against bone filled the air, and Mandalore's steady stream of profanities suddenly increased in volume. And then Mical was reaching out through the force, healing the break now that the bone had been set, and then Mandalore too was sent on his way.

Allia stumbled forwards, and Mical helped her lift Atton onto the cot. The man groaned as he lay down, and his hand immediately went to press against his blood soaked side. Touching the wound made his face scrunch up, and Allia was immediately beside him with a bucket when he vomited for the second time.

"Get out o' here, Ali," he groaned, his pain wracked gaze bearing the edge of humiliation.

"That's enough of that," Allia replied firmly, before setting aside the bucket and lifting Atton's shoulders when she saw Mical struggling to get him out of his shirt. The man groaned and cursed when the shirt brushed over the blaster burn on his shoulder, and grunted when the movement aggravated his ribs.

"If you wanted to see me with shirt off, you could have just told me," he attempted to joke as he panted, and despite herself Allia chuckled as she eased him back down.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied dryly, and frowned when his grin turned into a grimace.

"He took quite the beating," Mical observed as he smeared some kolto over Atton's wounds, and the corners of Allia's mouth turned upwards when she sensed Atton's ire.

"That temple was full of fracking dark Jedi, and you people sent three non-Jedi to deal with them. What'd you expect?" he groused through clenched teeth, and Mical sighed.

"I'd say the extent of your injuries has more to do with the fact that you didn't use any medpacs than anything else," Mical replied, and Atton snorted his derision.

"Atton! Why wouldn't you…" Allia began, but then trailed off when she remembered her puzzlement upon finding several more medpacs in her bag than she had remembered packing when she, Mical, and Visas had gone to fight Vaklu. _Oh, Atton…_ Allia took in a deep breath and gently brushed her fingertips against the wounded man's cheek. Just when she got frustrated enough with him to write him off as a complete scoundrel, he'd go and do something like this…

"That was incredibly foolish of you," she murmured softly, bending down close to his ear, her voice gentle and tender to temper the hard words that she spoke.

"That's me, the resident fool," he grunted in response, is face contorting slightly as Mical reached through the force and began to knit the muscle and tissue of his side back together. Force healing, despite its expedience, was an intensely painful if brief process. The rapid growth of new tissue was often even more painful than the act which had caused the wound in the first place.

Allia sighed as she reached down to take Atton's hand as Mical continued his healing, and felt rather than saw the disciple's speculative gaze when Atton laced their fingers together and squeezed tightly. "You're not a fool," she replied, and Atton let out a bark of wry laughter followed by a sharp gasp of pain.

"The old bat seems to think so," he grumbled, hissing when Mical turned to the blaster wound and began using the force to heal the charred flesh and blisters and forcing a new layer of thickened skin to grow over where the wound had once been.

"Well I don't," Allia replied, and felt his hand tighten around hers to an almost painful degree when Mical began to heal the cracked ribs.

"Kriffing sithspit," Atton ground out when his ribs slowly snapped back into place and the bones began to re-knit themselves. Allia gently ran her free hand through his damp hair to comfort him, and she could feel Mical's eyes boring into her again. She glanced up to meet the handsome, blonde man's gaze and saw the concern for her accompanied by his disapproval for her growing attachment for the scoundrel written in those blue depths. She stubbornly raised her chin a fraction, and Mical shook his head and broke eye contact, choosing instead to glance over Atton's body again.

"He should be fine now; all he needs is rest," Mical said, although his expression clearly demonstrated that he wanted to say something entirely different. Allia nodded her thanks, and Mical moved to step out the med-bay before he stopped and stared at her again. He opened his mouth as though to say something before shaking his head and leaving without a word.

Allia had a feeling he had meant to caution her about attachment, and she was grateful that he had chosen to say nothing. She had been raised in the enclave, knew the rules and regulations of the Jedi code. Romantic attachments were not uncommon between members of the order, but they were highly discouraged due to the emotional turmoil that they could bring. And this particular man could cause a lot of turmoil, Allia knew. She had no business developing feelings for him.

And yet… she could not seem to help herself.

She glanced down at Atton and found that their hands were still intertwined and he was laying still and silent, his face still pale but the color beginning to coming back to his cheeks as he deeply breathed in and out, clearly beginning to succumb to exhaustion. Allia found herself wondering how long he'd had to stumble through the jungle, and was amazed that he had managed to hold onto consciousness for so long when in what must have been agony.

She moved to step away and leave him to his sleep, but his hand clamped more firmly down around hers and his dark eyes opened and glanced around the room. "Blondie's gone?" he asked, and Allia was relieved to hear that the edge of pain in his voice had been replaced by weariness.

"Yeah," she murmured softly, and seeing that he wasn't ready for her to go, she sat on a stool beside the cot and lightly brushed her fingers through his wavy, dark hair again. She glanced over him now that she was no longer distracted by his suffering, and noted the blood splatter that had dried on his cheeks, the blood mixed with Kolto smeared over his abdomen. "Let me get you cleaned up," she murmured, leaving his side to get a sponge and a bowl of water.

"I can do that myself," Atton murmured, sounding embarrassed as he moved to push himself into a sitting position. However, Allia flattened her hand against his chest and gently pushed him back down. He closed his eyes when his head at the pillow, probably to recover from the dizzy spell that had obviously come over him when he had sat up. "Don't push it," she murmured, amused, was rewarded when she saw his lips quirk upwards at the corners.

Allia dipped the sponge into the water and began rubbing it in circles over his abdomen, cleaning off the sweat, Kolto, and blood. Atton's eyes remained closed and he hummed slightly, deep in his throat, making the exile smile slightly in amusement. She moved the sponge up, wiping off the dead skin from his shoulder, the sweat from his neck, the blood splatter from his face. Suddenly, he caught her wrist in his hand with a stronger grip than she had been expecting and met her gaze with a crooked grin.

"We could continue this in the refresher. You wash me, I'll wash you… I promise I'll be very thorough," he murmured, his eyes dark with barely repressed lust, belying his teasing tone. Allia swallowed hard, feeling the heat rush up to her face and down to the pit of her belly when she thought of standing in that small, cramped space, Atton's hands all over her…

She coughed, withdrew her wrist from Atton's grip, and lightly smacked his shoulder with the sponge. "Scoundrel," she muttered under her breath, and could feel her ears warm from the force of her flush. _There is no emotion, there is peace…_

He chuckled slightly in response, and one of his hands moved to brush against her side. Despite herself, Allia jumped at the contact, and glared darkly at him when that hand moved to press against the small of her back before moving dangerously close to her backside.

"Atton," she growled, and he laughed, moving his hand away from her and raising them both up in front of him in the gesture of surrender.

"Sorry, Sweets. You can't blame me- a gorgeous woman giving me a sponge bath after a battle… I'd have to be an idiot not to try to take advantage of the situation," he said, his grin widening when he saw her blush deepen even further. Allia was sure she was purple by now. Especially when she glanced down and saw his naked torso, clean now, the skin stretched taught over perfectly formed muscle.

_There is no emotion…_ "You know, I think you were right. You can do this yourself," Allia replied tartly, dropping the sponge and turning on her heel before hurrying from the room. Atton's unrepentant laughter followed her out, and when she reached the dormitory, she pressed her hands to her burning face.

The scoundrel could be damn infuriating, always testing the boundaries, always pushing her to her limit. She wondered what would happen one day if she didn't refuse his advances. If when he pushed her to the point where she usually walked away, she jumped him instead. For an instant she allowed herself to consider it, and then pushed the thoughts aside when they became too tempting to bear.

This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman mooning over a man who had a less than honest character, would probably jump ship if given the opportunity, and likely only wanted her for what temporary satisfaction her body could bring. And then she remembered him ashen and gray faced, clinging to her hand, and suffering from wounds that would have been far less serious if he hadn't snuck his medpacs into her bag. Those were not the actions of a man who merely wanted to use her.

Allia groaned and buried her head in her hands, doing her best to block out thoughts of a dark eyed scoundrel who got under her skin far too easily.


End file.
